Smoke
by Annie2
Summary: Spike is jealous over Buffy's visit to Angel.
1. Default Chapter

SMOKE  
  
By Annie  
  
Rated PG  
  
Disclaimer: After that musical, I am quite distressed to admit that Buffy and all her friends are owned by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. You Belong To Me is not owned by me either. Or Smoke Gets In Your Eyes.  
  
Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net  
  
  
  
And off she went.  
  
One ringy-dingy, little electronic crook of the finger from him and off she went. Not even a good-bye, back in a few, do you mind, see ya' later - not a blasted thing.  
  
It never occurred to me, never entered my mind that someone would have called the poofter in LA, although I knew well enough Willow had gone there to deliver the devastating news of Buffy's death. Should be expected that he would receive the news of her new life. I guess I just wanted to forget he even existed.  
  
Probably I never thought about it because I didn't want to, but then she went. When that happened, trying not to think about it was like trying not to think about pink elephants for two minutes - impossible. Waking or uselessly trying to sleep, the thought consumed me until there was nothing left in my mind but this burning jealousy, this intense, hungry anger that fogged my thoughts and filled me with feelings of loss and abandonment.  
  
Buffy and Angel.  
  
Angel and Buffy.  
  
The Slayer and the vampire that should be me.  
  
I knew there had been love there, great love indeed, and I saw when the love turned how the hate from the demon side of that relationship was just as great. I knew how I felt. How much I loved her, how hard it was day after day, night after night. But, still I had hope, some little burning ember of something keeping me in Sunnydale, some little smidgen of optimism that just couldn't die.  
  
And truly, what could they do now, save profess eternal devotion to one another. They couldn't make love, he wouldn't take the slightest chance that Angelus would emerge once again to terrorize civilization. Or hurt Buffy.  
  
That was something she wouldn't have to worry about if she made love with me, let me make love to her, hold her, anything. But all that didn't matter a fig, just the idea of them talking, being in love and tortured with it was more than enough to make me burn, dampen the smoldering hunger a bit more.  
  
I paced and smoked, frantic and energetic with despair in my crypt.  
  
Then she was back, and I couldn't ask her what happened. It wasn't my place to bring it up if she didn't. Wouldn't bare myself to the others to ask them. Besides, I couldn't bring myself to see the pain of love lost on her face.  
  
So, I went to Los Angeles instead. Get it straight from the poofter's mouth, so to speak.  
  
The look of confusion on Cordelia's face when she opened the door to my knock was priceless, up until the point when she slammed the door frantically and started yelling for Angel. I knew I would have a demon of a time trying to convince them to let me in, or even talk to me from the hallway, especially after that bleedin' ring fiasco. I never liked Cordelia anyway, although she was even better-looking now than when she had been in high school, dating the happy carpenter-to-be. Back in the old days when I could have snapped a neck without the resultant knife to the brain.  
  
I heard the chain engaging on the other side of the polished wood and almost laughed. Like that would stop me. No way I could come in anyway without being invited, and the dim-witted bint should have remembered that. I could hear the urgent whispering from inside; they were probably arming the crossbows right then.  
  
The door chain slid off and it opened again, revealing Angel standing there, grim as death, as usual, with the luscious Ms. Cordelia a few feet behind him, armed, indeed, with her trusty crossbow.  
  
"Leave or you're dead, Spike. Permanently this time." Angel warned. "You can't come through the doorway, but an arrow certainly can, and Cordy is a crack shot now."  
  
She gave me a look of cocky bravado that I was sure she did not feel. "I've been practicing."  
  
At the first sight of him, the smoldering jealously had started to rise, but I had to push it away forcibly. I held my hands up to show I was unarmed and had all good intentions.  
  
"I didn't know you relocated. Didn't get the newsletter, I suppose. Nice digs," I commented, trying to look around him into the place.  
  
"And I'm so fucking glad you're impressed," he retorted.  
  
I just shook my head a little at his take-no-prisoners tone. "I didn't come here to cause any trouble. We have a long history, you and I, Angel, and I think it's time we bury the hatchet. I've brought news."  
  
Angel raised his broody eyebrows. "Bury the hatchet? In who? You've got a lot of damn nerve, Spike, have you gotten possessed by a incredibly stupid apology demon, or what?"  
  
"You know I can't hurt the girl, Angelus. And I'm not in the mood for a knock-down, drag-out with my own grandsire tonight, either. Like I said, I just came to bring you glad tidings of great joy."  
  
"What, you've decided to stake yourself and put us all out of our misery? Don't bother, I would be more than happy to lend you a hand. Now get out, before I come out there in the hallway with you," he threatened.  
  
I pretended that I didn't know he had been called. "I said I have news," I told him, watching him warily. "I thought you should hear it in person, so I came to tell you ." I paused for dramatic effect. "The Slayer is alive."  
  
He almost smiled, but I could see he was wary of me as well.  
  
"I know that, Spike. I've already spoken to Buffy."  
  
"Well, then, I can see this was a waste of my time and valuable nicked resources."  
  
"You could have just called, William," he said sarcastically, still cautious. Angel is no fool. "I know you are capable of using a telephone."  
  
"I was bored and restless," I told him. "Needed a change of scene. All manner of demon fun going on in SunnyD till the Slayer came back, but now it's the same old bloody thing as before.anyway, I thought I could have a bit of fun here before I went back to the old homestead. I'm quite sure you could steer me onto some loud demon parties, fists, fangs, women, you know the drill."  
  
"Spike," Angel began, but I interrupted him.  
  
"That's right, I forgot. You're all good now. Hanging out with the humans and all.."  
  
He took a menacing step toward me, through the doorway and into the hall, ignoring Cordelia's gasp of warning, and Angelus was in his eyes.  
  
"Don't try blowing smoke up my ass, William. Why are you here? And it's not to bring me good news."  
  
I tried to look indignant. "Bloody hell! I came all this way, inconvenienced myself, had to steal extra money, just to bring a bit of sunshine into your life, metaphorically speaking of course, and this is the thanks I get? Accusations, distrust."  
  
Angel stepped closer and I could see in his eyes that he was close to game face.  
  
"I know what's going on at the Hellmouth, Spike. I know about the rumors. You think I'm not in touch with the demon underworld anymore, you are sorely mistaken. William the Bloody - wrapped around the Slayer's little finger, right? I know you help them. And I know how you feel about Buffy. I have known for a long time. I know you. No way you would be a demon-killing slave to a Slayer. Of course, you love her. How could you not? Don't forget, I've already been there. First. I know how it feels - like a fire that should destroy you, but doesn't. Not physically anyway. So, why are you here, Spike?"  
  
"I came to tell you to stay away from the Hellmouth. It's my turf now." I bluffed. He didn't fall for it.  
  
Angel laughed darkly. "No, you didn't. You don't give a fuck about turf, you want me to stay away from Buffy. It doesn't matter, I have my own turf now, and I have to stay away from Buffy, forever. For Buffy, not for anyone else. What am I, an idiot? You think I don't know what's going on? You came here to find out what happened the other day. You want to know if we swore undying love forever. You just wanted to know if I touched her, Held her. Or anything-elsed her."  
  
I almost flinched at the words, but I would not show weakness to Angelus, especially not within sight and hearing of Cordelia, who would probably hightail it to a phone the second I left.  
  
"Stay away from Sunnydale and Buffy. You've hurt her enough.."  
  
Before I knew what happened, I was up against the nearest wall, my own reflexive vamp face looking into Angel's.  
  
"Don't. Ever. Threaten. Me. William." He warned very quietly, the words punctuated by the hand squeezing my throat. "What's the problem? I saw her first, is that it? I had her first, too, before anyone. And you're worried about my claim on her, now?"  
  
I punched him in the face and he let go, backing away and laughing, face reverting back to human. I kept my game face for the moment.  
  
"I won't be taken for a fool, Angelus. I want to know how it is."  
  
Angel turned serious again, no longer threatening, so I devamped as well.  
  
"How it is?" He repeated. "It isn't. It never will be. Buffy and I had.you can't even imagine what we had. What we can never have again. It's a move-on thing with us, and we know it. As for you, you'll need all the luck you can get."  
  
"Well, that's it then," I said, heading for the elevator, feeling anxious, not knowing what might be happening at home in my absence. "I'd like to say it's been nice, but it actually hasn't."  
  
"Oh, and Spike," Angel called after me, making me pause to look back at him questioningly.  
  
"Don't make me come there and kill you."  
  
I saw the dead seriousness in his eyes.  
  
"Not to worry, mate," I assured him, watching him as he went back into the apartment and slammed the door. Well, I had touched a nerve. Good.  
  
Apparently, there was an opening in the Slayer's social calendar after all.  
  
  
  
Love's a funny thing, I always thought. I was sick and tired of hashing it over and over in my mind, this Buffy thing I had, so I tried to let it go for a few days. Went out on patrol; stopped at the Magic Shop, hung out on Buffy's porch. I missed the nights when I could stand on the lawn, enshrouded in the darkness, chain-smoking and keeping an eye on her. Funny, too, how I felt so much more burning envy over what she had with Angel than with anyone else, like Captain America for instance.  
  
I could recognize true love, without it having to jump up and bite me on the ass. Now there's a visual for some lonely night.  
  
The third night after she came back, still consumed with the fact that she hadn't seen fit to talk to me about her meeting with Angel, hadn't even mentioned out loud that she had gone to meet him, I went looking for her. Actually, I really thought she might need help patrolling, because the freakiest fog had crept in from the coastline. Weirdest thing I ever saw, like that mist in the old Stephen King book, the one that ate everyone, or whatever. I don't much like King, or Rice, but their stories are good for a laugh. It's like Saturday Night Live transcripts for demons.  
  
So I finally managed to find her in this encompassing veil, slowly walking through the cemetery, not much going on anyway. Even the baddies must have been wigged out by the weird stuff laying thick and undulating on the ground.  
  
"So, Buffs," I greeted her, coming out around a mausoleum, startling her just a bit. I liked that. Always tried to get her off guard, and that's a very hard thing to do. "Busy night?"  
  
I walked next to her slowly, not too close, not too far away. I do need to treat myself sometimes, and she really smelled good today. New perfume, I supposed.  
  
"Nah, pretty dead," she dead-panned, not even looking at me, just moseying along.  
  
I reached into my pocket and took out my cigs, offering the pack to her. She just gave me her patented Buffy 'eeeww' look, and I almost smiled. I loved almost every expression that I had ever seen on her face except the sad ones.  
  
"Calling it quits? There's a movie marathon on tonight, Frankenstein, the Werewolf, all those old monster movies. Up for some flicks?"  
  
"No, I think I'm just going home. Not in the mood for old movies."  
  
Or old Spike, I thought ruefully.  
  
"Well, then, I'll walk you," I offered, trying to sound like I didn't care if she went home and ditched me or not. Buffy is not a fool either.  
  
"Actually, Spike, I do feel like walking around town a bit. I'll be all right, if you just want to get back to your crypt and your marathon."  
  
I waved the hand with the cigarette in it negligently. " I can see them anytime, I have the tapes. I like to walk at night."  
  
She almost smiled. "Especially as you can't walk during the day."  
  
She always has to remind me.  
  
"Well, it's nice out tonight, except for this hellish fog, or mist or whatever it is," I told her, ignoring the remark deliberately.  
  
"I saw something about it on the weather; some kind of freaky cold and warm front thing, with a bunch of other things drawn in there on the map. It's supposed to be gone by morning. But, you're right, it is nice out, and I don't think the fog will hurt us."  
  
We walked in uncomfortable silence for several long minutes, until I couldn't stand it anymore.  
  
"Hey, I know what we can do," I said suddenly, trying anything to get her to speak to me.  
  
"And I want to know this?" she asked gently, teasing me, which I took as a good sign.  
  
"Yea, if we just make a left at this next corner, go three blocks and make a right, three houses down, this really old couple lives. They have this huge-ass big-screen TV. Must be hard of hearing along with being half blind, because they always have the volume turned up so loud you can hear it across the street. We should go and see what they're watching."  
  
She stopped and stared at me. "You want to go and play peeping Spike?"  
  
"Not peeping, they're old as the bloody hills. Just watch some telly! Come on, you have to see it at least. Then I'll walk you home."  
  
"Fine," she relented.  
  
Much to my dismay, the old folks had already retired for the night, so there was no big-screen to show off anyway.  
  
"Well, that's just disappointing," I complained, sorry that she would be going home now, and me without any excuse to delay her getting there. "All right, let's just get you home to bed."  
  
She raised her eyebrows at me, but let it go.  
  
Somewhere along the way back, still walking in silence, we paused in front of an old house, just about two blocks from the Summers home. Music was drifting out, someone was listening to an oldies station. I like the oldies, although I never let anyone know that. Of course, for me, oldies go back a lot farther in years than for most other people.  
  
It was that old song, You Belong To Me, and it made her look just a bit too solemn. Without even realizing I had done it, I reached out and touched her shoulder, making her look up at me questioningly.  
  
"Come on, Slayer. You know you want to dance."  
  
She looked around hesitantly; nothing to see except dark houses all up and down the block, empty cars, soft blackness of night and the gray- white fog, still swirling around our legs and misting upward as even the slightest move disturbed it, making it caress up around us.  
  
"There's no one to see, " I assured her. "You won't have to live it down tomorrow at the local market or anything. It's just a dance."  
  
I saw it then, passing over her face so briefly that if I wasn't watching for it, I would never notice. She did want to dance, but she didn't like the fact, and wouldn't admit it in a million years. Couldn't blame the girl for being wary, after all, look how her other inhuman relationship turned out. I, on the other hand, have no gypsy curse. As far as I know.  
  
"One," she informed me, letting me put my arms around her. I didn't pull her too close, I was afraid she would change her mind. She was stiff and unyielding, and we moved together ungracefully on the sidewalk.  
  
"Relax, Buffy, it's just a dance." I repeated softly. I wanted to whisper it in her ear, but thought she would stake me if I got anywhere near her throat. Another old song had started and amazingly, she stayed where she was, starting to get a bit more comfortable in my arms. For myself, I was just enjoying the incredible feeling that she was in my arms willingly, I hadn't needed to give myself a migraine to get her there, and she didn't seem inclined to leave. When she spoke suddenly, quietly, I almost wasn't listening, so intent were my senses on the sound of her heart and her blood flowing through her veins beneath the warm, fragrant skin.  
  
"I went to see Angel," she said unsurely.  
  
"I know that," I replied, some instinct telling me not to lie and pretend I was in the dark about it.  
  
"I had to, you know. You know how that was with us. I had to find out.something."  
  
I was unconsciously pulling her closer, feeling the need for comfort and understanding she was giving off. Her hair smelled so good. And her hand in mine was soft and strong, and I could imagine how it would look and feel somewhere else. I could also feel that burning hunger inside rising again, the need to know what Angel had felt with her. I thought I knew, but I couldn't have what he had, and I couldn't imagine how I would feel if I did, and then lost it.  
  
"You had to find out if he still loves you?" I asked. A sudden, breathtaking thought occurred to me then. "Or if you still loved him."  
  
She looked up into my face then, with those beautiful luminous eyes, and the smoldering inside me intensified.  
  
"What if it's you?" she whispered.  
  
"What if it's me what? Who loves you?"  
  
Tiny shake of her head, earthquake in my gut.  
  
"No, what if it's you that I love? And I don't even know."  
  
I stopped in my dancing tracks then, stood still while the ember flared in me and made a roaring sound in my ears.  
  
"Just dance, Buffy," I told her, breaking my gaze from hers and pulling her even closer.  
  
"I knew you went to see him, we all did. Some of us didn't like it. It's hard to fight someone who isn't even around. I went to see him, too, but I'm sure our meeting wasn't nearly as pleasant as yours, although it was probably just as emotional. And not in a good way, I might add. If I had known ahead of time, I would have probably tried to stop you."  
  
"You couldn't." she said matter-of-factly.  
  
"Are you going to LA to be near him? Or is that not an issue?" I asked her, all this while moving with her, slowly, there in the ever-rising fog in the dark. The stuff was up to my thighs now, and still looking as creepy as ever.  
  
"Not an issue. Issueless. It can't happen. Ever."  
  
"Well, good," I remarked, "Because if you left I would lay down and will myself to bloody dust."  
  
"I don't want to talk about it, Spike. Just be quiet."  
  
Not one to argue with the Slayer, at least not anymore, I was quiet. We had automatically moved closer to each other, dancing without thinking while we spoke. The fog was swirling up around our waists now, and little tendrils of it floated away from our bodies as we moved gently. The mist was warmer around her, and as we danced I could feel the heat coming off her in waves, burning against the coolness that was me. We were very close now, bodies just barely touching, her heat enveloping both of us. Her breasts brushed against the shirt under my coat, and she shivered slightly, some touch of the fog making her cold. I reluctantly let go of her hand, took my arm from around her and pulled her in even closer, folding her into the coat with me, still moving silently, listening to the beat of her heart and feeling her breath against my chest as the Platters wafted on the night air. She leaned her head on my chest, resting, eyes closed, and I was in Heaven. If I exploded into dust right that second, I wouldn't have cared. I started to whisper to her, the lyrics of the song, not quite singing, when you're heart's on fire, you must realize, smoke gets in your eyes. She was pressed up against me pretty solidly, resting there, and we were just barely swaying to the music. I could feel her nipples and the heat from her body against my hips. Couldn't help getting hard, but she felt it, and jerked away from me so suddenly I felt like I was pushed into the deep freeze from the loss of her heat on my body.  
  
"Buffy, I'm sorry," I tried to apologize, feeling like I had violated her somehow. The look on her face was unreadable.  
  
"Go away, Spike. Go home."  
  
"Buff."  
  
"Fine," she interrupted me, turning away. "I'll go."  
  
And off she went, through the mist and away from me. I wanted to follow her, but all I could think of was the time I had tried to follow her home when we were fighting over my idiotic attempt to convince her I loved her, and she had stopped me from going into the house. That probably wouldn't happen now, except for the possibility of the real door being slammed in my face, but I didn't think I could take that either.  
  
"Well, sod off then!" I called after her. "See if I bloody care!"  
  
Problem was, I did. 


	2. Chapter 2

FIRE Smoke 2  
  
By Annie  
  
Rated: R  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, no, never; no money collected.  
  
Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net  
  
  
  
Off she went again. Only home, this time, leaving me in the middle of a dark street, rebuffed. What a word, rebuffed by Buffy.  
  
I thought I would feel better after I smashed a chair to pieces in my crypt, but as I just wanted to fall on a huge splinter and die permanently, that apparently didn't do the trick.  
  
Bloody bitch. Can't ever make up her mind what she wants. Expects every sodding one of us to just deal with it. I'm bloody well sick and tired of dealing.  
  
Typical - get a guy all hot and bothered and then take off.  
  
Should she be insulted that my dick got hard when she was leaning all over me like that? It wasn't like I could have stopped it. She didn't need to get mad. If mad was what she was. I was pretty mad, I could tell you that, as I kicked the splintered remains of the chair around.  
  
I went to look for the broom, but grabbed my bourbon instead, yanking open the door and glaring out into the night and the ubiquitous mist, all but daring a demon or three to rise up and confront the angry Big Bad.  
  
No takers, then. Fine. I'd just beat myself up a bit more, finish the job the Slayer always starts. And quits.  
  
I slammed the door closed again and stood in the middle of the floor, seething. No one had ever been able to make me as angry as Buffy could. Or as hungry for her. Even now, the hunger burned maliciously, taking on Angel's sarcasm, his own conviction that I could never have what he had with her.  
  
The bourbon probably wouldn't drown the fire, but I drank deeply anyway.  
  
I was only halfway through the bottle when the knock came. Someone was knocking on the crypt door. Actually knocking. What the bloody fuck?  
  
I was pissed; I wasn't even halfway drunk yet, and here was some trickster or other bugging me. At 1 in the morning.  
  
"Can't I even get a decent night's drink in peace around here?" I was roaring as I pulled the door open, prepared to simply throw whomever it was across the cemetery to the nearest open grave. Buffy was there, apparently having changed her mind about going home to bed.  
  
"Slayer," I practically snarled at her. "Come to finish me off then? I'll take care of it myself. Go back home to bed!"  
  
I was closing the door in her face when it came back at me and knocked me to the floor. Points for not spilling a drop from the bottle, though.  
  
"I'm going to have to talk to Willow about an uninvite spell for you." I told her.  
  
"I knew you'd be holed up here drinking," she remarked, glancing around at the mess of the chair in the far corner. "Love what you've done with the place, Spike."  
  
I got up and walked more than a few paces away from her. "What do you want, Slayer? I don't want to patrol anymore tonight. And my offer to walk you home has expired. See ya."  
  
"I came to talk, and try to explain."  
  
"Explain what, exactly?" I asked her, taking another swig from the bottle, offering it to her then, just to see the look on her face. I would have liked to have seen the look on mine when she grabbed it from my hand, took a quick drink, and handed it back.  
  
"I'm having a hard time here, so.."  
  
I tried to look shocked. "Well, your Slayerness, I am so bleedin' sorry you're having a hard time. I'll just, oh, I don't know, rearrange my entire life around you, how's that? Oh, wait, already did that. Maybe a little walk in the morning sun, help you clear your head. and ignite mine."  
  
"Spike, please" she tried to go on, and I could see she was in earnest, but I was tired of the seesaw that had been my life the last few months.  
  
"Please what? Please combust and get out of your life for good? Please crawl on the floor like a dog and beg for you to want me? Don't think so. Done with all that."  
  
"Just listen," she asked quietly.  
  
"I'll listen, and then you'll leave me to my bottle, deal?"  
  
She didn't answer that particular question, just stood and looked at me for a few uncomfortable seconds.  
  
"I'm not sure where to start. I know it seems like I don't know what I want, but that's not it. I always know what I want. I just don't like that I want it. Do you see?"  
  
I nodded briefly, unsure where she was going with this, and thinking it couldn't be any good for old Spike anyway. I was already thinking of packing.  
  
"Anyway, I've been thinking a lot. I went to see Angel, and that wasn't nearly as hard for either one of us as I thought it would be. We know, truly know, we can never be together, and all that is behind us. He has his life and I have mine. Again," she said with a tiny smile.  
  
"So, like I said, I've been thinking, weighing things in my mind, like you."  
  
Now I had had enough, and didn't want to hear any final rebuffs, this can't work out, been nice knowing ya', sod off.  
  
"Weighing things in your mind?" I broke in. "Things like me? Trusty old Spike, good for killing demons and babysitting and selling information. And here I am, living the life of Riley in the Hellmouth, well, except for the shagging the Slayer part. Got a penthouse apartment for all my troubles. Can't eat, can't sleep, all I can do anymore is drink to put out this fire, this fire in my gut and in my brain. I haven't had a moment's peace since I first saw this bloody place, and now I've been weighed, measured and found wanting, is that it?"  
  
"No, Spike," she hastened to assure me, knowing I was expecting something she hadn't intended to say. She put her hand on my arm, and the other one reached out and took the bourbon from me.  
  
"I'm the one I found wanting," she told me. "It's me. I know I've got a lot of stuff to deal with, and this process to go through, and I'm trying really hard to go through it, but I'm tired of feeling like I'm never happy. And it's not just the whole being dragged back from heaven thing. There was a time, not too long ago, when I thought I didn't even have the capacity to love anymore. But when I went to see Angel, all I could think about was how it was going to make you feel. It took me three days to even tell you about it, I know you noticed that. And it's not because I didn't care. I did care. The whole time I was there, I cared. But not about how Angel felt."  
  
"And I'm supposed to be happy?' I scoffed.  
  
"I want you to be. I want everyone to stop hurting around me, I'm tired of it."  
  
"So what now? I roll over and be the happy dog, let the Slayer scratch my stomach until something better comes along?"  
  
Her hand came up then to slap me, but I was fast. I hadn't had nearly enough bourbon to slow my reflexes. My own hand came up angrily to stop hers, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor as the damn chip fired, both hands to my head, writhing in agony.  
  
"Just stake me already," I gasped, "And put me out of my fucking misery!"  
  
The bottle smashed on the floor as she dropped it in her haste to help me. "Damn it, Spike," she railed. "If I really wanted to stake you, you would have been a dusty memory long ago." She sat by me and pulled my head into her lap, her hands caressing my scalp gently. It hurt so badly, but I couldn't bear to make her stop touching me. I am so pathetic; love's bitch, I told them once before, and it's always been true.  
  
The pain faded in a minute or so, but I didn't let her know. I wanted the sensation of her hands on me a while longer.  
  
"Smashed the bloody bourbon, didn't you, Slayer?" I finally asked her quietly.  
  
"I wanted your undivided attention," she explained, her hands beginning to give out more of a neck rub now than a scalp massage. I'd had my eyes closed the whole time I had been resting in her lap, and I was afraid to open them, lest the moment be ended.  
  
"You have always had my undivided attention." I informed her, knowing it was entirely true. Even when I was obsessed with killing her, it was still an all-consuming habit.  
  
"Is this all right?" she asked. "I'm not making it worse, or hurting you, am I?"  
  
"Burn me to the ground, Love. I'll die happy," I replied.  
  
Her hands stopped their soft caress then, and I felt movement. Now I'd done it, she was getting up. I was wrong, because the next thing I felt was her warm, full lips softly against mine, and then my eyes did fly open.  
  
She tasted like my bourbon the first surprising second, and then she tasted like pure, hot desire. Don't know what that tastes like, but this had to be it. I licked her lips gently as my arms went up around her, pulling her down even further. She shifted until she was laying against me there on the floor, her arms around me now, pulling me in closer, all the while kissing me hungrily, tongue exploring my mouth while I tasted her the same way.  
  
"Feel better now?" she whispered into my mouth, her hand caressing down my side, stopping at my hip to slide just close enough to my cock to turn my insides viciously. It was already hard, and needed attention. I did feel better, and thought I should show her.  
  
"Little bit better," I replied, breaking the kiss to stand suddenly, pulling her up with me. The nearest thing was the wall, and I pushed her up against it, crushing my mouth to hers once more, tongue reaching as far as it could. She moaned into my mouth and I thought I would go berserk. I put my hands on her sides, thumbs rolling over her breasts, and her nipples were erect and demanding. She had her hands on the side of my face, holding me to her mouth, trying to devour me, it seemed, and I was quite willing to let her do it.  
  
I pressed her to the wall with my weight centered right at her groin, and she moaned again when she felt my cock against her own heat. I moaned, too, at the burning there. I was aching to get myself out of the constricting jeans and feel her hot skin on mine. The thought had my mind reeling, and I leaned my face into her neck, like I had wanted to do earlier when we danced. I licked the warmth of her throat tentatively, and she reached down and put her hands on the back of my jeans, trying to pull me in even closer. I nibbled on her neck and she gasped my name. I ran my hands up under her shirt and bra to caress her breasts, amazed at the hot, firm feel of them. She started pulling her legs up along mine. I didn't need any further urging at this point, I was about out of my mind from the fire in me. I could feel it, burning up from my cock to my brain and wiping out any thought other than to be inside her. I ran my hands down from her breasts to her jeans, opening them quickly and pushing them and her panties down until she could step out of them. She reached down and opened my zipper, reaching in for my cock, groaning at the hardness there. I pulled away from her the briefest second so I could see her hand on my shaft. I don't think it had ever been so hard and she was stroking it lovingly. But not for long. Her legs started to crawl up mine again and I picked her up higher, as they wrapped around my waist. I pulled her hips toward me and held her with the tip of my cock just touching her. I waited, watching the fire in her eyes, and then she pulled my head to hers, kissing again, and that was all I could take. I pulled her down onto me, almost pushed over the edge by the gasp she made into my mouth.  
  
I stopped then, with her impaled on my cock, her wet heat inside burning me as the muscles moved and caressed. Her breathing was deep and ragged, and mine would have been the same had I needed to breathe. I ate her mouth and tongue, there against the wall, wrapped up in each other. Her hips were moving on my cock, and it felt like it was getting even bigger in response. I had to move then, had to fuck her and I started slowly, barely moving, but her own movements were urging me on, demanding more. "Hard," she gasped into my mouth. "Spike, hard." She breathed against my lips.  
  
So I fucked her hard, pounded into her until I could feel the muscles clenching around me and she threw her head back crying out wordlessly, bringing me right over the edge, the fire exploding in my gut and my head until my ears were ringing.  
  
We leaned against the stone weakly. I was holding her up but that wouldn't last long. I could feel that my cock was still hard inside her, still wanting more from her. She could feel it, too, and moved almost imperceptibly, making my insides roil with renewed hot desire.  
  
"Buffy," I said softly, seeking her lips once more, kissing more gently now, feeling the hunger flaring up. She lowered her legs from around me, and pushed me in the direction of my slab, which was thankfully covered with blankets. I pulled her down with me, claiming her mouth once again. She was trying to pull off her clothes, and I was more than willing to help, wanting to look at her. She helped me with my shirt and jeans, flinging them behind her carelessly, and then climbing on top of me, pulling at my shoulders until I sat up, with her sitting on me. She nibbled on my neck and I moaned in delight, hands cupping her breasts. I leaned down to take each nipple into my mouth in turn, hungrily, and she clutched at my hair and pulled me closer. My cock had become huge again, and she moved onto it gently, putting her arms around my head, trapping me there at her breasts. I sucked and nibbled while she moved, her breath coming faster and faster while she pushed herself to ecstasy with my cock buried in her. I felt her coming again, and poured myself into her, leaving her breasts to meet her lips again, to kiss while I filled her, moaning into her mouth, hands tangled in her hair to pull her closer.  
  
We sat there, quietly, and then I lay back down, gazing at the beauty before me, Buffy, eyes burning, cheeks and skin flushed with pleasure.  
  
"Buffy" I started to say something, don't know what, just something, but she leaned down and put a finger to my lips, which I kissed gently and then nibbled playfully.  
  
"This is what I wanted," she told me quietly. "I just wouldn't admit it to myself. Now I have."  
  
"And where do we go from here?" I asked, reaching to her face to push a waft of silken hair from her cheek.  
  
"To sleep," she smiled at me. "We go to sleep."  
  
I smiled as she leaned her head on my chest, holding her tightly to me, feeling the welcome warmth on my skin. I kissed the top of her head gently and closed my eyes, anticipating the morning. 


End file.
